


tends towards zero

by inverse



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:52:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9105493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inverse/pseuds/inverse
Summary: the tokyo 2020 olympics have begun. oikawa decides to watch a match. oikawa-centric gen, brief appearances by other characters listed.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carafin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carafin/gifts).



> for the lovely cara, whom i am very proud to call a friend :') happy birthday!! you've been very busy lately so i don't know which parts of fandom you're still into, but i think genfic is always a safe option when it comes to you (hee), and though the themes here aren't the most cheerful, i think it's a message you might appreciate. i hope that you enjoy reading this, that you had a great day today, and that great things will come your way in 2017!! ♥♥

1.

The highlights for the afternoon’s swimming qualifiers gave way into the next scheduled match replays. Oikawa stared at the TV screen for a few seconds, then decided to get Iwaizumi to do the dirty work.

“Iwa-chan,” he said vacantly, “what else do you want to watch? I think I’ll throw up if I have to watch another second of this.”

“Can’t you just change the channel by yourself,” came Iwaizumi’s voice, echoing out from the kitchen. He sounded a little panicked, as if he’d just realised that he had forgotten to turn the stove off before he left the apartment, and now a fire might break out any time soon if he didn’t get home quick enough. “Sports are all I watch nowadays, seriously. Don’t tell me you want to swap it out for some shitty romcom.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know which channel the shitty romcom is on,” Oikawa drawled back, putting a bit of a whine into his complaint. He leaned back on his palms against the parquet floor, tilting his head to his left. That way he could look down upon whoever had just appeared onscreen with the keen eye of righteous judgment.

It was a Saturday night and Oikawa’s legs were tucked beneath the coffee table in Iwaizumi’s living room. As usual he’d visited Iwaizumi after seeing his family, taking the train down from Tokyo every other week, and just recently Iwaizumi had moved out of his old home and into a brand spanking new one that was closer to his workplace in Sendai so he didn’t have to spend so much time commuting. As such everything was new and shiny, like the television set that Oikawa was currently turning his nose up at. The air conditioning was turned on, separating them from the heat that was no doubt clinging to every inch of the building’s façade outside, and Oikawa had gotten so comfortable that he didn’t want to move an inch, not even to press a few buttons. He didn’t want to have to do it personally.

Iwaizumi reappeared from the kitchen with a tray of appetisers – he’d been watching the microwave – and two cold beers. He set the tray down on the table and snatched the remote out of Oikawa’s outstretched hand.

“It’s just a matter of pressing a few buttons and you won’t even do it yourself,” Iwaizumi mumbled, annoyed.

“You’re the host, Iwa-chan, it’s your duty to indulge your guests,” Oikawa told him sweetly.

“Fine, fine. What do _you_ want to watch, really?”

“Don’t you have a cable subscription?”

He caught one last glimpse of the players before Iwaizumi flipped through the channels, obviously flustered. Now that he’d had the chance to see the two of them standing side by side, they did look very much alike, at least from a distance. Tall without being lanky, and now that they were older they were both more well-built, like most athletes maturing into the peaks of their careers were; dark hair in more or less the same cut; and the determined, focused gazes that were on both their faces were more or less the same. The way that their eyes were fixated on the ball as their Polish opponents got into position to serve, exactly like how it was years ago, so genuine and sure. So nauseatingly similar.

 

 

2.

The year is 2020 and preparations for the 32nd Summer Olympics are in full swing. In a month or so Tokyo will be crowded with visitors from both within the country and all over the world – landing at its airports, travelling on its world-renowned trains on schedules that run like clockwork, walking its safe, clean roads, and filling up hotels and malls and stadiums alike. It is still up in the air whether the event will turn a profit and boost the country’s economy just as the government had promised when it first landed the bid a little less than a decade ago, given that most Games in recent memory have reported enormous losses.

For the time leading up to the event, however, every single effort is put towards making sure that the Games are a roaring success, so the issue of whether money is going down the drain has taken a backseat to the event’s execution. The city is plastered with colourful banners and posters bearing the festival’s logo and faces of hopeful athletes, signalling the impending arrival of the Games, and the streets are littered with rigorously-trained ambassadors ready to help a tourist in distress at any moment. Its horizon now boasts twenty new sporting venues, each one more impressive than the next, glimmering like enormous steel-clad, LED-powered jewelled bugs, whether night or day. The tension and excitement in the air is palpable, thick as butter.

 

 

3.

In his second year of university Oikawa was taken off the first team of his college’s volleyball club. He’d played in some official matches, started a handful, and had been benched for the rest of them. It wasn’t that he wasn’t good; in fact, the coaches had singled him out early on as one of the few freshmen who had the potential to make first team quick, but the combination of hierarchy and inexperience made it inevitable that he was farther down the line in becoming the team’s setter of choice. So it came as a shock when his knee – the good one, to his bafflement – started showing signs of wear and tear, when he hadn’t been playing as hard as the regulars had. Or that might have been the case if he hadn’t trained extra in his time off. He’d even taken care to make sure that he didn’t repeat the same mistakes as he did in high school, to push his body past its limits and take responsibility for every shortcoming he possessed as an athlete. He did everything in moderation. 

But perhaps moderation couldn’t make up for the stress that had slowly and invisibly accumulated on his limbs without anybody noticing. He notified his coaches, who advised him to monitor the situation; they couldn’t decide if he needed to have surgery and nor did they have any idea if it was beneficial for the team, in general, if they greenlighted the surgery and stuck him in rehabilitation for an extended period of time. He missed a training camp, then another one, and for the matches there was always a more experienced pick than he was, and if they weren’t more experienced, then they had, at the very least, more endurance. Not an insignificant amount of time passed by while they waffled about the right decision to make while sticking him in the roster now and then, and quietly but surely, towards the end of his junior year, Oikawa came to realise that the situation had been mishandled in favour of having surer bets on the team. By then no amount of surgery or rehabilitation would have made him good enough again in time to be scouted professionally. Iwaizumi was indignant on his behalf, and just, fine, Iwa-chan, I swear I won’t give up on the sport, I’ll volunteer to teach kids how to play volleyball and tell them not to overwork themselves, would that make you happy?

 

 

4.

A few months prior to the advent of the Olympics, Oikawa had an encounter so brief but so vivid that he was uncertain if he’d dreamt it up in the first place. It was mid-afternoon, and he was heading back to his office after meeting a client for a rather lengthy business lunch. He loitered the streets of Omotesando, determined to get his fill of window-shopping in before returning to work, when, leisurely swinging his briefcase from his hand, he spotted a familiar-looking stranger walking towards him with someone else in tow, wearing a parka, face hidden under a baseball cap.

The feeling of déjà vu wasn’t new to him. Once in a while he’d get the same sensation, thinking that it was an old classmate he’d seen on the streets, only to find that it wasn’t who he’d thought it was. How many years had it been since he’d seen Ushijima in the flesh? Seven, maybe eight years? Perhaps this person merely reminded Oikawa of him – tall and broad and inscrutably serious-looking. Their gazes met for a moment, and then they passed each other by. So it really was just a doppelgänger. He returned to looking at the clothes behind the boutiques’ glass displays.

“Excuse me,” said someone behind him a few seconds later. Oikawa turned around, and Ushijma was back, looking quizzical. “It was you indeed, Oikawa.”

“Sorry,” replied Oikawa blandly, “do I know you?”

“It’s Ushijima Wakatoshi,” Ushijima deadpanned, completely missing the point. His companion looked in on the conversation silently a few feet away. “We played volleyball at the same time, in middle school and high school. We met at the Miyagi prefectural tournaments several times.”

Oikawa didn’t need reminding. He never forgot any of that. 

“Yes,” he said finally. He couldn’t wait to leave and hoped that his tone of voice betrayed his lack of enthusiasm. “Good to see you again. I’m headed somewhere else so I’ll be off now.”

“Oikawa,” Ushijima pressed, “are you still playing volleyball?”

If this had happened while he was still in university, Oikawa would have told him to mind his own business, but he’d mellowed out a lot over the last few years.

“Yes,” he replied. “Occasionally.” The time he spent with the middle school kids during his weekends counted for something, surely.

“Wakatoshi-kun, we’re running late,” said Ushijima’s companion, adjusting his glasses.

“That’s a relief to hear,” Ushijima declared, and momentarily Oikawa felt a twinge of shame over the suggestion that his nosedive into obscurity must have caused some confusion among his then-contemporaries. “I’m running short on time, but it was good to have seen you here today.” He gave Oikawa a brief nod, then left with his companion. Oikawa was somehow glad that Ushijima didn’t seem to have the time to interrogate him further. The memory of the event lingered in his mind for days, but in that memory, Ushijima’s face was hazy.

 

 

5.

He had dinner with a colleague the Monday evening that he returned from his visit to Miyagi. He had been seeing Yumi for about a month now, having gotten her number from a friend working in her department; he waited for her in the lobby after work and they left for a sushi bar a few blocks away.

It was crowded everywhere. Oikawa imagined the situation downtown was even worse. One would bump into the occasional tourist from time to time normally, but recently foreigners of every nationality and creed swarmed even the business districts, gaping at the dull, grey buildings as if they were fascinating relics of an alien culture. They were seated next to a group of uproarious Europeans who seemed to be having the time of their lives. Discreetly they placed their orders, then receded into their own private conversation amidst the ruckus. They caught up over what they’d done the week before, taking some time to complain about their superiors and laughing when they realised that they’d both been paying excessive attention to the vice president’s unzipped fly all throughout the morning’s general meeting. Oikawa was still chuckling to himself when Yumi paused, reaching out for his hand from across the countertop.

“Tooru-kun,” she began, tracing an infinite loop of circles in the middle of his palm with a manicured fingertip, “you seem a little unhappy today. Is something bothering you?”

“Ha. Are you sure you’re not just imagining it?”

Yumi shook her head and said, with no small measure of confidence, “There’s something different about you today. You seem distracted, like your mind is elsewhere. Did something happen over the weekend? You can tell me, if you don’t mind.”

“It really wasn’t anything. It’s just,” Oikawa paused, and when the few seconds of the Asian Qualifier that he’d accidentally seen at Iwaizumi’s place flashed across his mind, he thought it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to share it with somebody else. “Remember when I told you I used to play volleyball in high school? And with the Olympics going on here in Tokyo – it just made me think of a couple of old rivals, is all. I chanced across a match on TV the other day, and it seems like they’re both playing for the national team now. I even met one of them a while ago on the streets. That’s a lot to be reminded of in a short while. I suppose that’s all that’s been on my mind recently… Did I seem that bothered by it?”

“So that’s what’s going on. Anybody would be bothered by that,” replied Yumi. “Were they friendly rivals? Or did you not get along well?”

“I didn’t get along with them,” said Oikawa wryly. “But I think that was just me being a brat. I would feel like things were playing out to my disadvantage, so I overcompensated for that accordingly. Looking back, I was pretty horrible! Wait, have I said too much? Does any of this take away from my refreshing personality?”

“On the contrary,” Yumi laughed. “You know, since the Games are in town, you should go see them in person, right? And then shout something from the stands to distract them, if that makes up for anything. Actually, don’t do that – you might cost our country a chance at a medal.” Something in his expression must have changed, because Yumi’s eyes went wide, and then she burst into another fit of giggles: “You were seriously considering that, weren’t you? If you actually do turn up, don’t tell anyone it was my idea!”

 

 

6.

Thanks to the fucking scalpers who had no doubt taken advantage of the Games’ overwhelming popularity, ticket prices for the sporting events had skyrocketed, but Oikawa managed to score a ticket to the men’s volleyball quarterfinals for just shy of ten thousand yen. Most of his coworkers were more interested in popular sports such as swimming, diving, and track and field, which dominated the watercooler talk for days. But both the men’s and women’s national volleyball teams made the quarterfinals – a positive result for the women’s team, but entirely unexpected for the men. They were going up against the Russians, and it would probably be a miracle if they continued to advance to the semis. Public sentiment was very tense.

 

 

7.

Oikawa made his way to Ariake Arena alone on Saturday afternoon, the day of the quarterfinal. The journey was packed the whole way through, from the instant he got on the subway and alighted to walk to the stadium on foot, surrounded by eager spectators. He wondered if he was the only person there that day to pay good money just to watch the match out of spite. Just the night before, he’d even considered not going at all.

After emerging from the lengthy routine bag check, he quickly made his way to his section of the hall. He didn’t have a perfect view, but it was good enough – too far away to really see the players up close, but it gave him plenty of perspective on the whole court. He took a deep breath and settled into his seat.

From where he was, he could clearly make out Kageyama and Ushijima mingling among the other volleyball players, some of whom he recognised to be players who had just started their professional careers when he was still in high school. He wished he could have looked at somebody else first. Oikawa couldn’t resist, in a startling fit of equal daring and self-loathing, looking up the men’s volleyball team just before he went to the match, reading articles about them and watching clips of their previous matches. What surprised him was that Ushijima hadn’t been utilised as often as Oikawa thought he would have been, but Kageyama – he’d slowly come to usurp the position of the official team setter despite his young age. Oikawa could see him on the court now, practising his tosses, both recognisable and not.

Kageyama’s form was perfect. He’d come so far since his time in middle school. It was surreal just seeing him there, seeing him on TV weeks before – in Oikawa’s mind, he still remembered Kageyama as the scrawny underclassman he had to one up at all costs. How serendipitous it was that Oikawa had never met him again all these years, that it was Ushijima instead of Kageyama those few months ago. That was just the sort of person Kageyama was – he never seemed to look back or care much about looking back. And maybe that was what Oikawa had feared, even when they were in their early teens, that Kageyama, as a setter, would have moved forward so quickly that Oikawa, for however he viewed himself, so talented and vital, would soon be left in the dust. Nobody could have foretold the future, and maybe even in a world without Kageyama in it, Oikawa still wouldn’t be playing on that court, in his place. And if he were, how would they measure up to each other now? But somewhere along the line maybe there was something he could have done to change that probability. If only he knew early on about how exhaustion was felt only long after the fatigue had set in. About short-sightedness. About the constraints of well-intentioned stubbornness and about luck. God.

God.

Oikawa returned to reality. He fished out his phone, snapped a quick selfie, captioned it “Guess where I am”, and sent it to Iwaizumi. He made sure to simper obnoxiously, which Iwaizumi hated. The reply came almost instantaneously.

 _you shithead. thought u didn’t care about the matches,_ it said. Then, two minutes later, _good for you. watching it with my dad. we hijacked the tv from mom._

The teams were getting into formation, and an announcement was coming over the PA system, lost in the chaos of the massive crowd. People began to cheer. The players began to rally one another. Oikawa stuffed his phone back into his clutch. He could leave any time he wanted, but he would try not to. He looked around the stadium, taking it into his sight, all of it, the players, the fans, the megawatt lamps that bore down on them, all of them illuminating beacons. Things were out of his hands now, and they had been so for some time. The referees took their places by the sidelines. He came to watch the game today. It would be a good game. He wanted it to be.


End file.
